


Family

by IChallengeMyFate (Ealdremen)



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 05:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3345914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealdremen/pseuds/IChallengeMyFate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the defeat of Grima, Lucina finds an old painting locked away in Ylisstol’s castle that reveals some unsettling truths about her mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on ichallengemyfate.tumblr.com. Takes place post-Future Past.

Lucina carefully picked her way through the halls of Ylisstol’s castle, navigating it as easily as she had before Grima’s assault had all but ruined it. With Grima’s defeat, it would be up to them, the survivors of the cataclysm, to rebuild Ylisse entirely from ground up. As she meandered alone around the castle, surveying the destruction, it struck her that even though Grima had easily ruined this castle, they had conquered Grima in turn. A little reconstruction was nothing compared to defeating the Fell Dragon of legend.

She stepped on a part of the floor that caved under her weight. Jolting back just in time, she took a deep breath, taking in the musty air, to steady her racing heart. Maybe rebuilding Ylisstol would be more difficult than she thought. Still, it was cathartic to remember that however much they had lost in the war against Grima, they had reclaimed the world from that monster. Given enough time and effort, this castle could be healed of its scars.

Most of the hallways had been caved in, preventing access. Some of the higher levels of the castle were practically gone, but the castle’s depths seemed to be mostly intact, apparently having been spared the brunt of the destruction. Lucina found herself descending lower and lower until she was sure she had to be beneath the earth. It was dark down here, but some shafts of light streamed in from the broken ceiling, giving her just enough light to pass through.

However, most of the rooms down here were locked. Lucina sighed as she tried another doorknob only to be met with disappointment. The keys to these rooms were long gone, she was certain. Nobody would have bothered to keep track of something so inconsequential when they were too busy trying to stay alive.

Maybe nothing was down here at all. For all she knew, thieves had long since ransacked the castle, leaving it barren, and there wasn’t any point in searching for anything down here. Yet she kept meandering about until finally, one door yielded to her, only to be stuck against something. With a small grunt, she gave it a good shove, and it fell in with a clatter. Dust rose up from the impact, but she still strode in, curious about what was left behind in the castle ruins.

All things considered, there wasn’t much down here. It seemed like a storage room for a random assortment of objects, wooden furniture and a few rugs. Lucina wasn’t quite sure what she had been expecting, but she couldn’t deny the sense of disappointment. Just as she was about to leave, something shiny caught her eye. She halted, then saw it was the frame of an oil painting lodged behind an armoire, as if to conceal it. Her jaw dropped as she met the eyes of her deceased father. Softly, as if treading too loudly would break the spell, she approached it.

“Father…” Lucina traced her gloved hand around the face in the painting, wishing it were real. Although it was strange that a painting of the previous exalt was hidden in the castle’s basement, she was grateful for it, considering it was likely the only painting that had survived the destruction.

She lost track of time staring at the painting and trying to conjure up what few memories of her father that she had. Most of them were just things other people had told her, particularly about how closely they resembled one another. For once, Lucina could see their point; they both had the same blue hair and eyes, for one thing. In the portrait, Chrom’s hair was neat and tidy, but she could easily imagine it slipping out of place and into his eyes, as hers often did. Lucina smiled at the idea, but the smile faded from her face as another person entered her thoughts.

“Did I inherit anything from you, Mother?” She wasn’t certain, having never seen even a painting of her mother. One of the castle attendants had told her that she would have had a younger brother, but he had died shortly after being born. Lucina wouldn’t have ever known about him if nobody had told her, considering it had apparently happened when she was very young. Perhaps he would have resembled their mother more closely, had he lived.

“I suppose it’s better he died before this happened,” she murmured, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. “No child deserves to grow up in a world like this.”

With a weary sigh, Lucina couldn’t help but wish she hadn’t had to live in this hellish world, either. What she wouldn’t have given for a chance to prevent Grima’s return entirely and give herself and her friends normal lives. Every single one of them bore scars from what had happened. Lucina wasn’t quite sure if it was better to have barely even remembered her parents’ faces, as it was with her, or to grow up with a family only to lose them, as it had been for several of her friends.

“What _were_ you like, Mother?”

Just as the words had left her mouth, Lucina realized there was more to the painting. She saw a hand on her father’s shoulder, and her eyes lit up. If this painting was from after Chrom became exalt, then surely the other person in this painting had to be her mother! Adrenaline rushed through her fatigued body. Even if she would never properly know her mother, at least she could see her face.

With a great heave, she pressed against the armoire and pushed. It screeched against the stone floor, but she didn’t care. She shoved with all her might until the painting fell out of its position between the armoire and the wall. Lucina rushed to catch it, barely stopping it from striking the ground. She sighed with relief at seeing it undamaged, but her breath caught in her throat as she saw the woman in the painting.

Images flashed through her mind, and none of them were cheery memories of a mother forgotten. Though the woman in the painting was smiling softly, gingerly touching Chrom on the shoulder, all Lucina could see was the demented woman cackling from the battlements of Ylisstol’s castle as she laid waste to the world.

Grima.

The painting dropped out of her arms, landing on the ground with a sharp crack.

“No,” Lucina whispered, as if it this was some kind of trick, some kind of illusion that would vanish if she wished it hard enough. “You… You can’t be..!”

She clutched at her throat, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. As she staggered away from the painting, she found that she couldn’t avert her gaze from it. The more she stared, the more like Grima this painting seemed. There was no maniacal glint in the woman’s eyes here, her body wasn’t silhouetted against ash and smoke, and she seemed younger, too, but even now, the pieces were falling into place. How evasive everyone had been when she asked about her parents, the pained glances when she told her father’s friends that she wished she could have met her mother, the lack of paintings _of_ her mother despite being the exalt’s wife…

“Your father was betrayed by the one he trusted most,” they had told her. The words thudded in her head.

It made sense. It made _too_ much sense. Grima staying her attack, letting Lucina strike after Tiki had awakened the Falchion’s power… Grima declaring that the “former owner” of the body had loved Chrom…

Lucina collapsed to the ground, shaking. Her ragged breaths seemed to echo in the desolate halls of the castle. Everything seemed so cold now; the eyes of her parents in the painting stared at her, and she could have sworn they looked more melancholy now that she knew the truth.

The one who had destroyed the world, the one who had killed her father and countless others… was her own mother. She had been the one to kill Chrom in cold blood.

And Lucina had killed her in turn. She closed her eyes shut, shaking her head to clear her mind, but the memories wouldn’t leave.

She had buried the Falchion, her father’s sword, in the heart of her own mother, proclaiming the end of Grima’s reign and the beginning of a new future. At the time, she had felt so triumphant, so noble, so _heroic._ It had felt like she was avenging the deaths of everyone Grima had killed, from the unknown soldiers lying dead in the fields of Ylisse to her own father, one of the first to fall by Grima’s hand.

The satisfaction she had felt striking down Grima sickened her. All she could recall now was the pained way Grima had looked at her – at her own _daughter_ coming to kill her – and how she hadn’t even struggled when Lucina cut her through _._

“Even… even in your last moments…” Tears fell freely, splattering the dusty stone floor. “You… saw me as…”

_…Family._

“No!” Lucina screamed, her voice hoarse. She shakily stood up. “Grima can’t be my mother… This is just an illusion! It’s… it’s not true…”

The tears were making it hard to see, but she could still see the painting sitting there, mocking her. The gentle smile of the woman seemed more like a cruel smirk. Lucina withdrew the Falchion, catching her own reflection in the dim light. With horror, she could almost see a resemblance between herself and the woman in the painting.

“It’s a _lie!_ ”

There was a clang as the Falchion struck the floor, slashing through the painting. Lucina rasped for breath, but as the surge of indignation left her, she realized what she had done and sunk back to the ground, her quivering hands still clasped around the hilt of the sword. She stared with wide eyes at the ruined painting. She had cut right across the woman’s throat.

“I… killed her… again…” A broken sob racked her body, and she let the Falchion fall out of her hands. Resting her head on the ruined painting, Lucina wept more bitterly than she ever had in her life.


End file.
